


Puns of Laughter

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Puns, Domestic, EYUP YUP YUP, Established Relationship, F/M, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Post-Pacifist Route, um.... literally not much else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toriel has a few different types of laughs that Sans is accustomed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puns of Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> My friend drew [this super cute comic](http://undeadengineer.tumblr.com/post/134536568041/what-if-when-toriel-laughs-really-hard-she-bleats) so I wrote a thing bc. Soriel is suffering. :^)

Toriel has a few different types of laughs that Sans is accustomed to.

She has a polite laugh, the kind that reminds Sans that Toriel is a prior queen. It’s the laugh she gives when things aren’t exactly funny, the kind of laugh that you pepper into friendly conversation, to make things flow and have people relax. After all, prior queen, over seven feet tall? To the people that aren’t familiar with her personally, Toriel must be quite the fright at first glance; this is something she is aware of, especially regarding the humans she must interact with on the daily.

When she laughs her charming conversational laugh, it’s light and cute. Sometimes she laughs into the back of her paw, tilting her head down politely, not to stifle it but the appearance of it looks far more… mature, Sans supposes. He also thinks she is a master of settling into casual conversation—Toriel can strike up a chat with almost anyone, with her kind smiles and gentle words.

There’s the laugh she has when something is actually funny, like one of Sans’ jokes, or when Frisk does something too cute for words. This one lacks the grace, but it’s still wonderful because it’s hers—the way her eyes crinkle up and she laughs, loud and delighted, sometimes putting a paw to her chest while he tries to reign it in, only to end up bursting out laughing all over again.

Sans is quite familiar with this laugh, because he remembers it from behind the door.

But it’s better in person, he knows now. She throws her head back, her shoulders shake a little as she chuckles, wheezes, laughs and giggles until the fit passes, and even after, she lets out little strings of snickers when she thinks about it.

One particular time, when Toriel and Frisk were baking cookies for Frisk’s class (while Sans supervised, of course, because cookie dough is far too sticky and yucky for skeletal monsters to go mucking around with their exposed phalanges and metacarpals in), Frisk yelled out a very annoyed, “Get it _together_ , dough!” at the glop of cookie dough in their small hands, too gooey to form any shape.

Toriel bucked over the counter at that and laughed for at least ten minutes. Even later, while she packed the baked cookies into colorful Tupperware containers for Frisk to bring with them tomorrow to school, she was still giggling to herself, shaking her head fondly.

Sans thought it was one of the most endearing things he’d ever seen.

Of course, that was before he knew Toriel’s well-kept secret. Something that should have been a little bit obvious, sort of, but went completely undetected.

Sans considers himself pretty funny—hilarious, even—according to Toriel-rated standards. She laughs at most of his jokes, and when she doesn’t, it’s either because they’re too cringe-worthy to earn little more than a groan of distaste, or something else that’s bothering her; Toriel, at least ninety-nine percent of the time, laughs at his jokes.

However, one night, while Sans is knocking them out rapid-fire as they do dishes together (Sans doing the actual washing and Toriel doing the drying and putting away part of it), apparently he lands a good blow with one of his jokes—“Hey, why didn’t the skeleton dance at the party? Because he had no _body_ to go with!”-- because Toriel clutches the plate she’s currently holding to her chest while she laughs and _laughs_ and—

Bleats.

Like, _actual_ bleating.

Like, real life, that’s-an-actual-sound-coming-out-of-her-mouth bleating.

Sans is staring and he _knows_ he’s staring, but it’s only because it’s really cute in this unbelievable kind of way. Also because Toriel looks dangerously close to buckling over as her entire body shakes with the noise—which is the best kind of laughter, Sans can assume, from the breathless grin on her face.

“Oh, my,” she wheezes in weak breaths, hurrying to set the dish down so she can cover her face with her paws, shaking her head as her laughs die down, no longer the bleating but instead breathless giggles she grins widely around.

“I’m—so sorry,” she’s telling him, paws pressed firmly to her face, “This is _so_ embarrassing.”

Sans, in an excellent moment of love-struck bonehead, does little more than continue to stare at her with a grin that, if he did have skin and muscles and all that jazz, he’s sure they’d be aching. His theoretical heart is leaping in his theoretically-present chest, his theoretical stomach is bursting with theoretical butterflies.

She is _so cute_.

And she doesn’t even know it!

He barely recognizes her apologizing again as she wipes the corners of her eyes—a real teal-jerker, apparently. But she returns to the dish before, wiping it off before grabbing the few others of its set before she kneels down to open one of the lower cabinets to put them away.

Except, while she is at ideal dish-putting-away height, she is also at a decent height for receiving kisses, and Sans doesn’t really think there’s a better way to tell her that her laugh is super cute, _she_ is super cute, he’s going to make sure he makes her laugh that hard for _forever_.

So he blurts out a, “Hey, Tori--” to get her attention, and when she starts to turn her head to him, he dives in, pressing his teeth to her cheek in a way that isn’t exactly a face-mashing (as Frisk has so kindly put it several times before when talking about skeletal means of affection) but the best of a kiss he can offer. He whispers a “ _smooch_ ” into the soft fur of her face, just in case she doesn’t know.

When he pulls back, watching her maw break into a delighted smile, he finds himself blurting out, “I think it’s cute, your laugh,” which is embarrassing, so embarrassing, he didn’t need to say it, what the fuck is wrong with him—

But Toriel chuckles at that, guiding him by the jaw so she can press a kiss to his teeth fondly. She whispers a sincere, “Thank you,” against his bones that makes a ferocious shiver climb up his spine as he gurgles out a, “Sure thing, T,” in reply.

Sans does his best not to melt into a puddle of sap on her kitchen floor while she kisses him again.


End file.
